


Sweetbounce

by CassieIngaben



Series: Pretentious Pros(e) [1]
Category: The Prisoner (1967), The Professionals (TV 1977)
Genre: AU, Experimental Style, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25187161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben
Summary: Order, peace—England smelling forever of beautiful roses.
Relationships: William Bodie/Ray Doyle
Series: Pretentious Pros(e) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824613
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Sweetbounce

_Sweetbounce, greywet, sweetbounce. Lightglobe noshine noshine. Sad sad. Whistlingair loud, whhomm whhomm whhoomm whhoomm. Something's wrong? Words go, then come and go again. Very wrong, ong, ong. Whhoomm-o, sweetbounce greywet sea._

The old man was walking down the shore, limping along in the grey, wet day. Every time and then he stopped and checked that the big white globe was still following him, hovering for an unnaturally long time in the air, then delicately landing and bouncing back up, as if weightless. 

_Oldman, oldman, crawlslow, oldman. Know oldman? Great oldman, old old oldman. Sad oldman? Old. Greysad oldman crawls on, sweetbounce greywet sea._

The old man looked at the agitated sea, then sighed and passed a hand over his sparse whitish hair, only a few strands of faded ginger still visible. As he neared the end of the beach, whitish fine sand creaking under his polished shoes, a second white globe appeared, and came up next to the first one. The first white sphere broke its steady soldier-like rhythm, and started a more lively, faster series of movements, that looked almost as if centered on the newcomer. 

_Mate, sweetbouncing mate. Good, sweetmate, goodmate. Flybounce, flightlight, lightmate bouncemate! Greensweet lightsee, softhair sweetsmile... Remember? Wrong, mate, very wrong bad sad. Remember? No remember, hurtbad, sad, sad, sad..._

The second Rover flanked its mate, and went on with him. The first sphere resumed its steady rhythm, though it fell in tune with the slightly faster, more disordered movements of the other one: a nervous, sprightly step and a calmer, more economical, but equally swift one. The old man advanced, the two Rovers in tow just a step or two behind: and so they headed towards the far end of the beach. 

_Wrongway, wrongway, oldman wrongway wrongway! Sad sad, oldman, bounceback, bounceback, wrongway!_

The old man stopped and turned around, as if measuring the distance left before the confines of the Village. Then he squared his tired shoulders and looked at the two floating Rovers. "Aye, there we are. Almost done, now. But before I go..." 

He hesitated, as if at a loss for words, or embarrassed. Then he made a gesture of impatience, and went on: "I miscalculated. Triple think failed me for once, or maybe I was growing old. And yes, I was growing old, and I knew I couldn't go on for much longer, and then what of CI5? I thought that they were on a good thing, that the plan would work. Order, peace—England smelling forever of beautiful roses... But I didn't know about, about **this**!"

He gestured towards the Village, and then his eyes lingered on the two quivering Rovers. "I couldn't want this for you, or for anybody. I made a terrible mistake, lads. I tried but I can't undo it, and now it's too late." 

The old man took a deep breath, and looked once again at the sea. "I don't know if you can remember or understand—and maybe it's for the best. But I am glad that it's the two of you, lads." 

_WRONGWAYNOWAYNOWAYSTOPNOWSTOPNOW! OLDMANSTOPNOWNOWAYSTOPNOSTOPNO! MUSTSTOP MUSTSTOP STOPSTOP STOPSTOP STOPSTOP!_

Suddenly, the old man turned, and started to run haltingly towards the Village border. The two Rovers seemed to hesitate, then they took off at a speed, faster and faster, until they were on the old man, and took him. He went down under the huge wardens, without a cry, and in the eerie silence it was soon all over. The Rovers lingered on for a while, hovering almost gently in the sea breeze, bobbing up and down like giant white gulls, then slowly started to make they way back, bouncing slowly, almost sweetly, as if dancing together in the grey sea air.

_Sad. Wrong, sad. Oldman nobad. Oldman. Muststop whystop? Badstop, nobad nostop? Remember?_ _Words go, then come and go again. Unhappy. Angry. Oldman. Mate sad sad?_

_Forget. Mate sad, sweetmate goodmate, greensweet._

_Sweetbounce with me, flylight_ , while I sing in my chains like the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> Back in 2002, I was part of a Pros Writing Group where we would write challenges. That month the challenge was to write a crossover with 1967 TV series The Prisoner. I was feeling literary and pretentious so I decided to write a story from the point of view of the Rovers, the big white globes preventing people from escaping the village. I'd also recently read Helen Raven's amazing, heartbreaking "The Same River". The result is a pretty weird story.


End file.
